Aemond Has So Many Traumas And Insecurities That Prevent Him From Being Able To Fully Open Up To You.

Aemond has so many traumas and insecurities that prevent him from being able to fully open up to you. Not only about his appearance or about what he hides under the patch, but it goes deeper; he grew up surrounded by people who made him lesser for the simple fact of not having a dragon of his own, he had to endure mockery and hurtful jokes, beatings and even punishments for defending himself from his own family.

Aemond ended up getting used to those treatments, he ended up normalizing them as part of his daily life and to fight with them so they could not hurt him even more, as well as he learned to ignore the looks of disgust and terror of the people who crossed him in the corridors when he walked without anything to cover his eye, and even when he wore his eye patch, that did not avoid the contemptuous glances of the ladies of the court.

Aemond had become so accustomed to those looks and the cold treatment, that when he met you he was astonished by your attitude; he never saw even a glint of terror or disgust in your eyes when you saw him, never a grimace or an expression of discomfort in his presence. On the contrary, you were nothing less than kind and sweet to him, you were attentive, gracious and Aemond was sure that you only treated him that way out of pure courtesy, it was almost impossible for him to believe that a lady as beautiful and sweet as you could be interested in a crippled and incomplete man like him.

He would soon discover that he was wrong, in fact. Aemond was someone reserved, of few words and with a cold attitude that managed to turn anyone away from him. But he couldn't keep you away.

Soon he would get used to your presence by his side, following him wherever he went as long as he felt comfortable, you slowly learned his likes and hobbies, and the more time you spent by his side, the more confident he became. The time he spent with you became his favorite without a doubt, he longed for every moment together to last forever, by your side he learned what it is truly to be cherished, loved even. He slowly learned to accept that you cared for him as much as he cared for you, to let you love him as much as he loved you. Aemond had never felt so comfortable with someone by his side, he had never felt so loved and cared for, so safe in your arms every time you hugged him, so calm every time you left a soft kiss on his forehead, so loved every time you took off his patch and kissed that scar that brought back so many bad memories.

He had given himself to you, body and soul, he loved you so much that it hurt, he longed for your touch and treasured your words as if they were a prayer. Aemond was devoted to you, because his life felt truly full only when you came into it.

Fool Me Once (part 4)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x reader (wc: 4.5k)

Summary: Your paranoia spikes as the safety of your children is put into question. Familiar faces come to King’s Landing as the fight for power continues to grow.

A/N: When I posted the first part, I had no idea this would be the response i get, let alone that I would be making multiple parts. I’m so grateful for all the support I have gotten, and I hope to keep writing hotd stuff y’all enjoy. This part will span events that happened in ep 8 of the show. Ep 9 and 10 will be part 5 🫶🏽🫶🏽. Hope y’all like it, and PLEASE come talk to me. Love chatting about fmo

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

You tried to make it to your chambers without disturbing the party. Your father seemed confused by you sudden departure after Jayne pulled you away from him.

Ser Quinton insisted going into the chambers before you. There was a sick part of you that hoped she was in there. Waiting for Aemond; or better yet, waiting for you. At least if you saw her, you would feel less… mad. The descent to insanity may be held off by finally putting a face to worst time of your life. You think about the knife trick Quinton had taught you, and if he was right when he said it led to a slow death.

Your bottom lip wobbles when you walk into the room and see red. Alaric’s cot is smeared with blood. Whoever did this did not go to his nursery, they came here knowing you also have a place for him when he is extra restless in the night.

Quinton gives you a look. He can tell you are about to panic and reaches out for your arm. Lord Larys stands there, a dubious look on his face.

“You know it is quite rude to leave you own party. Mother told me to come get you,” Aegon strolls in casually with a lazy smile, and goblet in his hand. His smile falters when he sees the blood and the look on your face. “Seven Hells.”

“We need to tell the Queen,” Quinton pipes up after a beat of silence.

Your mind strays to what Alicent could have said to her son. What Aemond could have said to Alys. The woman that have haunted your thoughts for moon now being in Red Keep… in the room where you rest your head.

You look down at the bloody box, your hands stained red. Time seems to slow down and speed up as you think of what to do.

“This is your house sigil,” you turn to Larys ignoring Quinton’s request. “She was here. That bastard witch was here. She touched my child’s things.”

There’s a vibrating anger that courses through your body. It was not good enough to have your husband, or carry his child. Now she must resort to messing your child, to trying to goad you into a something.

Well, if that is was she wants…

Lord Larys raises a single brow, looking at the box quizzically. A normally self assured and smarmy man just as put out as you. “Maybe we should follow Ser Quinton’s idea by telling Queen Alicent.”

“Tell me what? The feast is about to start.”

Alicent’s rich tone cut through the room, and the four of you turn towards the chamber doors.

“What is all of this,” she gets a familiar furrow in her brow when she sees the blood stained box in your hands. Her doe eyes going from you, to her son, to Quinton, then to Larys before landing on the bloodied cot near the bed.

Alicent rushes into the room, and over to you. You watch as her face falls when she sees Strong sigil edtched in the box and Alaric’s blanket.

“This does not make any sense,” she mutters, shaking her head.

Your eyes flicker quickly over to Aegon, who has an I told you so look on his face. It sets in that any possible reprimand that Alicent gave Aemond was also met with giving him a chance to repair the situation. He had a chance to make a choice, and still chose wrongs. Your imbecile husband.

It is almost a joke at this point. He must really enjoy making you look foolish. That is the only explanation. Before you ask Alicent what she said to him during their talk, a flash of silvery hair at the door catches your eye.

There had been times you thought about killing Aemond. A slip of poison in the goblet, or smothering him with a pillow. Even more lately since you two share a room again. Not ideas you were ever proud of, especially when you thought about your children not having their father in their lives. Living with the grief of a dead father the rest of their lives.

But there’s something about this moment that makes you think you and your kids would be just fine without him. Just fine away from all these people.

“What is going on,” Aemond cautiously walks in, clearly apprehensive of the collection of people in the room. “Your parents are asking for us.”

“Aemond, you should go ba-,” Alicent starts. She is using the voice you have heard her put on when speaking to members of court. Collected and stern.

“This is your fault,” your voice trounces out hers. You move past Alicent and throw the box at his feet. “Your whore left us a gift.”

Aemond leans down to look at Alaric’s blanket. His shoulders stiffening instantly when he sees the box. He looks over at his mother. You have learned that they have their own little language through looks. A connection that can only be expected through mother and child. It only infuriates you more.

“She would not do this.”

Aemond shakes his head in disbelief, and you throw your hands up in frustration. The blood from them now starting to stain your dress. Your favorite purple dress tainted.

“Is her cunt so magical that it is making you blind in both eyes,” you hiss. “She came into this room, and soaked your son’s blanket in blood. Gods know whose blood.”

“My wife-“

You hold a hand up to stop him.

“You have already shown you have no respect for me, but if you think I am going to let your love affair with her effect my children, you are more foolish than I thought.”

Your eyes drifts down the small dagger around his waist. One slit to the throat is all you need. There’s a strange sense of adrenaline that runs through you.

A blood lust.

“We need to all keep our composure, fighting will do no good,” Alicent steps in between you two. “…. And we must remember our stations.”

She eyes you when she says the last part of the sentence.

“Before we jump to any other conclusions, let’s get one of the maidservants to clean this room up, and I’ll see to it that extra guards are sent to all the living quarters. We will discuss how to go forward after the feast.”

Alicent grabs Aemond’s arm in an attempt to pull him out of the room. Your vision blurs with anger. Jump to conclusions? Playing coy and hurt has gotten you nowhere. Your mother was wrong all those years ago; keeping your head is not the always answer.

“That is not going to work my Queen,” Alicent turns back around with a frustrated look in her eyes. “This a threat towards Alaric. And your son’s disrespect of his marriage is directly responsible; what other conclusion is there?”

She sighs before walking back over to you. Alicent takes your hand softly and lays the other over yours.

“Sweetling, do not let jealousy cloud your judgment,” the sweet tone of her voice makes your throat tight. “Anger will not change what happened.”

There is something about the way she is looking at you that reminds of when you used to go hunting with your father. A hobby you hated, but were forced to do when you were younger. You are the doe or wild sheep being toyed with before being slaughtered. Made submissive once the chase is too much to bear.

She hopes you will eventually grow tired of running. That you will take each blow gracefully… Just like she has, just like is expected of a dutiful wife. Is that not what sacrifice is; to become a cold carcass for the dragons to feed on.

Even with people on your side in the room, you have never felt so alone.

“He’s your grandson,” there’s a desperation in your voice that makes you feel so small. Your eyes move past her to Aemond. “He is your blood.”

Your husband is the one that set this all into motion, and you still have to be the one the beg for sympathy. Sympathy for you, and for your children.

“You know I would not want anything to happen to him,” Aemond addressed you with a low voice. Alicent nods in agreement. You bite your tongue that you taste blood.

“Fine, if you both want to make this right, we can do this my way,” you return the farcical sweet voice.

Alicent’s brown eyes darken a bit. As if she knows where you are going with this. You let go of her hand to turn towards Ser Quinton and Lord Larys.

“I want her gone… permanently.”

Quinton’s eyes widen a bit. There had been hushed whispers in the past. Funnily enough, your chivalric knight had the same idea Aegon did. Kill her before it gets too far.

“Sweet daughter, you are not thinking clearly,” the desperation that was once in your voice has now transferred to Alicent’s.

“She made a threat against the son of a Prince of the Realm. That is treason, and calls for punishment.”

“That is enough,” Aemond raises his voice. An unwavering glare pointed on your direction. “This discussion is over.”

You stare in disbelief as he walks out the room. Alicent looks as if she wants to say something, but just sighs and follows her son out. Lord Larys does not even give you a glance as we walks by, trying to catch up to Alicent. Silence permeates in the room, as you stare at the door. Foolishly expecting one of them to turn back around.

“We can figure something out,” Aegon finally speaks up.

A lump grows in your throat. You look down at the dried blood on your hands and dress.

“Give me the room please,” you mutter to him and Quinton. Neither of them move. “I need to change. Just please go.”

Your voice cracks at the end. They both have seen you cry before, more times than you are proud of. But there is something different about this time. More painful; more humiliating. You do not want to be seen this way.

“I will be outside if you need me,” Quinton says softly.

When the door finally shuts, your legs give out from under you. A sob caught in your throat as you take in the room. Your watery eye land on the chest full of dresses. Some a deep red, others vivid green. Pristine and pressed.

Your life sullied… just like your favorite purple dress.

The feast goes as expected. People dote on Daella and Alaric. Aemond and Alicent keep their distance; Alicent spares you sympathetic glances when she thinks you are not looking. Your mother does not seem to pick up on your discomfort. Your father, on the other hand, continues to give you puzzled looks throughout. Especially when you came back in a different dress.

There was a rush of relief that follows when your father suggest the children visiting your home. Anything that gets you away from King’s Landing is welcomed. Even if it is for a short time.

Your worries seems to get push to the side when news of Lord Corlys Velaryons declining health hits the Red Keep. The Queen, who already spends her days caring for a sick king, must now concern herself with the issues that arise from a sick lord.

Daella and Alaric have not left you sight. Much to her surprise and enjoyment, you even joined Daella in the Dragonpit and in the library for her lessons. The constant vigilance extends to them coming with you to the Grand Sept.

Jayne keeping them company, and Quinton watching on as you kneel in front of the candles.

There is so much for you to pray for, you do not know where to begin. Before you eyes can flutter shut, a voice interrupts you.

“I was hoping to find you here,” the familiar deep timber of Lord Hightower’s voice.

He kneels beside you with a gruff groan. Otto Hightower is not a man you speak with often, and by choice. An intimating man through and through.

“I am glad to see you are well,” he starts blowing out one of the incense sticks. “Especially after what happened at the feast.”

As Hand of the King, and now acting in place of Viserys as his health declines, it should not surprise you he knows. It is his job to know everything, but mentions of your behavior still makes you shift nervously.

“It is a shamed. What bullishness can bring; Aemond has always been too proud for his own good, even when wrong.”

You furrow your eyes, and turn to look at him as he continues.

“You and your children are very important to this family, especially now,” he says softly.

He means your money is important to him. He means the fleet that sits on the outside west of Westeros is important to him.

“So, if you still want that problem taken care of permanently. There are those that would be happy to find her and do that.”

Talk of murder in the sept… the irony is not lost on you. Killing Alys means possibly murdering a child. It was one the reasons why you felt so guilty about what happened at the feast. Larys had told you sick rumors, one about what she does to her children. Though your expectation of her are low, you can not imagine even her doing such heinous things. Her state leaves you utterly confused.

Your silence seems to give him all the answers he needs.

“I will leave you to your prayers,” Otto starts to get up.

Alaric’s babbling grows as Daella rubs his head while Jayne holds him. Your babies.

You grab Otto’s hand before he can fully get up.

“After the deed is done, bury her near Harrenhal. Let her be on her ancestral home,” you say lowly, eyes trained on your children before flittering over to his.

Otto gives you a head and a smile before getting up.

Targaryens take care of their own. It is time you do the same. The Mother will understand.

Aemond is tense, even more than usual. At first you thought he knew. That maybe he could smell the anguish on you. The suspicions of him knowing about you giving his grandsire the go ahead diminished when you learned that Rhaenyra and her family were coming back to the Red Keep.

With the Driftmark claim up in the air, the castle is expecting many visitors.

A part of you can not blame Aemond for being on guard. The history between the other side of his family is bad for obvious reasons. There will also be a divide and uneasy feeling now.

It is the anxious feeling that washes over when you see Prince Daemon walking towards you. Instinctively clutch Alaric closer to you, bouncing him as he begins to fuss. With all the self-assurance in the world, there is something eye catching about the bravado Daemon Targaryen has. His confidence would be a trait you admired if it did not often go hand in hand with his arrogance.

The last time you saw the Prince was at your wedding. A surprise to everyone, especially Alicent and Viserys. The joy Viserys showed when seeing his brother dimmed when Daemon made it clear he was not staying afterwards. Lady Baela and Lady Rhaena, his daughters, sending well wishes and gorgeous jewelry. Pearls from the Driftmark Seas and rubies earrings that you are sure from Pentos. Your family frequented Pentos during the summers when you were younger, the three of you crossing paths briefly during that time.

His appearance at your wedding was a confusing to both Aemond and you, especially since he came alone. No Rhaenyra in sight. A crude choice on the princess’ part your mother remarked.

“Ah there is my niece and my grandnephew,” his smile is bright. Brighter than you expected considering why he is here, and the state his brother is in.

You were expecting a cold reception, one to the match the treatment they received. You exchanged a knowing look with Aegon when all of you were told not to greet them on their arrival.

A fake smile fights to replace the furrowed look on your face.

“Prince Daemon, I hope your trip from Dragonstone was well,” you catch how his eyes instantly go to Alaric in your arms. The Godswood is quiet except for you two, and the sound of chirping birds.

“Would have been smoother on dragon back,” he shrugs. “I am glad to see all is well.”

He holds his arms out expectedly. You blink at him, and his blinks back; realizing he is not one to back down, you gently hand over Alaric. Alaric tiny hand reaches out to touch the shiny material of Daemon’s coat.

Daemon resolves brightens even more when Alaric is placed in his arms. You know him and Rhaenyra have had children, with one on the way. You wonder if that positive disposition has been shown to Baela and Rhaena. Or even to Rhaenyra’s other children.

“He looks like his father,” he gives you a sly smile. This time you can not try to muster up a fake smile. “How is he, your husband?”

He is goading you. Even from the handful of times you have been around Daemon, you know he likes playing these games. Riddles and leg pulling; he likes knocking people on their asses. It is the warrior in him.

“He is doing well,” short and sweet, the best way to go you think. Daemon gives you smirk in return. As if in his head, he is laughing at a joke that you are clearly not in on. You tilt your head in confusion.

“That is good to hear,” he does nothing to squash the curious look on your face. The uneasiness comes back. Thankfully before it can go any further, Helaena calls your name from across the garden, stating that Daella wanted to show you something. You can tell by the smile she gives you, it is a lie. You are once again reminded of why you are eternally grateful to call her sister.

“Duty calls.”

His tone is light but his eyes say something more. What they say is something you are still unsure of. He hands Alaric back to you. As you walk away, you can feel his eyes on your back.

The fleeting happiness you got from seeing Baela and Rhaena came to a screeching halt once the petitions are heard the Great Hall.

Who held the throne of Driftmark after Lord Corlys eventually passes was of no consequences. Everyone knew this was for something bigger. To call Lucerys Velaryon’s claim into question meant calling his mother’s as well. There was a sense of disappoint that tugs at you when the doors swept open to show a hunched, and rotting Viserys. His ability to prioritize Rhaenyra over his other children should not surprise you, but as a mother it still makes you upset. You can’t imagine not fiercely defending both of your kids equally. You see the looks on Aegon, Aemond, and Helaena’s faces; it tells you everything, more than the look on Rhaenyra’s.

You raise a brow at Rhaena from across the room when her grandmother announces her and her sister’s betrothals. She shrugs back at you. You want to let out a sardonic laugh. Another generation of girls bound by what good for their parents, bound by what will be good for others.

Thoughts are broken by Lord Vaemond Velaryon’s angry words ringing out. His actions may not be what you have done, but you understand his ire. There is a irony to House Targaryen, one that fiercely protects its own blood to the point of incest, snuffing out another house.

Daemon has a look in his eye. Much like the one he gave you when he asked about Aemond. He is itching for a reason to say or do something. Vaemond gives the perfect opportunity.

Loud gasp fall over the Great Hall when Vaemond body and head hit the ground… separate from each other. Both Helaena and you instinctively turn away in shock. You do not consider yourself a squeamish person, but there is something about it that makes your stomach churn. Aemond’s hand goes to yours, and he squeezes it. You can’t remember the last time you two have held hands.

It could be the obviously grotesque nature of it all. Or how inconsequential lives seem to those who get in the way of this family. It makes you think of Alys. Are you like that now? Years of being in this family making it easy for you to digest moving pieces on a board?

Vaemond’s body gets carried out, with Rhaenys following closely behind. The Queen Who Never Was; life riddled with loss, and now her good brother can be added to the list. You wait for Aemond to let go of your hand, but once Rhaenyra and Alicent finish watching Viserys leave the Great Hall, she sets her eyes on you.

“I was hoping we could have tea,” she eyes Aemond who makes no effort to move from semi in front of you.

Rhaenyra is a hard person to say no to, and she clearly knows it. So, when you simply nod, she gives you smile. She holds out her arm for you to take it. As you two walk out of the Great Hall, you look back. You expect to see Aemond or Aegon looking at you, but instead your eyes catch Alicent’s.

A sad look of longing etched into her pretty face.

“They are darling,” Rhaenyra remarks in a hushed tone as you two watch Daella interact with little Aegon and Viserys. Alaric resting near the two of you.

Jayne had made sure tea and mini tarts had been brought to the Princess’ chambers.

“I am secretly hoping this one is a girl.”

She smiles softly at you, rubbing her swollen belly. You know she must crave that bond between mother and daughter, especially after the untimely death of her own.

“I was surprised you wanted to have tea,” the small talk was sweet, but you knew it was leading to something else. Your walls up even more after your conversation with her husband.

“I was worried that you might have took me not coming to your wedding as… a slight on you,” she starts. “That was never the case. I just felt that it would be best for me and my children to stay away.”

Outside of the snide comment made my your mother and Alicent, her absence did not concern you. You keep that you think Aemond was happy she was not there to yourself. It had been years, and you could count on one hand how many times you thought about it.

“Jacaerys was quite upset with me,” she laughs a bit. “I think he wanted to see if it was actually happening. Uncle Aemond getting married to pretty girl from court.”

You did not return the laugh. You little of her oldest boys, the only things you have heard came from Aemond and Aegon. Not positive representations you are sure.

“As we move past that, I want to say that if you need anything, I am here. If you need any help… any advice or a place to stay. You are welcome at Dragonstone.”

The words make your wandering eyes snap to hers. Rhaenyra gives you a look. The Realm’s Delight sitting across from you in all her glory. Her form of intimidation is different from her husband or her half brothers. A presence that is hard to come by, and even more difficult to replicate.

They know.

You don’t know how, but they do. They are dangling it in front of your face. Taunting you, and your crumbling marriage. Showing weakness at this point will do you no good, not until you have proof or an explanation.

“Thank you Princess,” you lean over to pick up Alaric gently. You need to get out of here. “If I need any advice on fickle men, I will come to you. I know have your fair share of experience with that.”

Rhaenyra’s confident look flatters a bit. She hums softly.

“Daella love, let us go see how grandmother is doing,” you pick an excuse to leave. The mention of Alicent makes Rhaenyra frown. Her light eyes darkening with sadness.

As you leave the the Princess’ chambers, it comes to you. How the hell did Aemond and Alys even meet?

You have seen first hand that being around her grandchildren is the only time Alicent happy. Unabashedly sweet and warm; dimples on full display. The two of you had not had a real conversation since the feast, but you knew better than to keep your kids away from their grandmother. It was the quickest way to anger her.

“Rhaenyra would not do that,” her tone reminds you so much of her son. So certain, as if it was an insult to question the virtue of the people they… love. “Maybe she actually wants to help.”

“They both know. I cannot explain it, but they know about Alys or they at least know she was here.”

Her shoulder slump as Alaric reaches out to touch the large seven pointed star dangling from her neck. Alicent’s ability to defend Rhaenyra will always leave you a bit speechless. If one of the boys ever said something disparaging about their half-sister, Alicent was the first to give them a warning look. She was allowed to be upset, they were not. A fractured relationship being held together by longing.

“I understand it…. How hard it is,” you shuffle closer to her. “Having your mind consumed by someone who does not extend that same grace for your feelings.”

“I did not think she would go after the children,” Alicent whispers. “I get why you would want her…”

She trails off. Her big eyes get glassy, and she swallows thickly. She does not say anything as she looks into fire. She reminds you of a painted tapestry. Beautiful and tragic.

“Princess Rhaenyra may not have orchestrated anything. But do we put it past Prince Daemon?”

“We will figure it out,” Alicent says after a bit of silence. “You are right, something is off.”

A thought comes to your mind. “Do you know what Prince Daemon for Aemond as wedding gift?”

Daemon never got you a gift, simply giving you the ones Baela and Rhaena sent. But you vividly remember him getting Aemond something. Alicent thinks for a second for her brows raise in realization.

“A book of stories about warriors from the across the Realm,” how was he putting that to good use, “Oh, a map of the red keep. I silly wedding gift if you ask me.”

She shrugs. Your eyes go to fire to. A map seems inconsequential enough, but as your growing paranoia seeps into everything it becomes clear.

You must find this map.

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reminder to the blacks that we may hate the greens but we love our riddle speaking bug girl Helaena she has done no wrong

How boys show affection.

Aegon has a very physical display of affection, he loves kisses, hugs and anything that has to do with touching you, sexually or not, in front of others or in your room, even when you weren’t married, people have caught you several times making out, in the kitchen, in the garden, in the bedroom, in halls, in corridors, it has already earned you so many problems, so many fights, if you have already promised each other the scandal would be little, but still it would be a way to hurry your marriage, if your marriage was impossible and he was already married, nothing stops him not even whispers.

Aegon would cut out the tongues of everyone who worried him, he doesn’t care if another servant comes to see you, but if you call he will make a way, he promises softly while giving kisses on your ear, while his hands are squeezing your thighs and you are sitting in the middle of the kitchen while he takes you right there.

He doesn’t really like to hold hands, he likes to touch your waist more, but if it’s really something well hidden, his hands will never leave your body, sitting together at the table at the family dinner, his hand is on your thigh discreetly, very close to where it shouldn’t be.

Seguir leyendo

The one shot where you did Aegon having sex qith his pregnant wife, could be do a part where he's so hungover in the moring he's like 'do what ever you want' to his kids because they keep begging him for something. I like dad aegon

A/N: Prepare for chaos and (hopefully) hilarity...

***

Someone shoved his arm lightly. A dull ache clouded his mind the moment he started waking up. His body might as well have been weighed down by rocks. The light shoving and tapping continued, and he swatted it away weakly. His head throbbed at the temples and around his forehead; he thought it might split open if he opened his eyes. The faint scent of violets reached his nose, and he smiled. Your scent always remained on the pillows long after you'd left the bed. He could feel a hand continuing to shake him.

"Give me a few minutes, love," he grumbled, rolling onto his side. "Then we can go another round before the children wake up."

"Another round of what, Father?"

His eyes flew open. Inches from his face was one that looked like his own, except the eyes were your shade. Baelon stood already dressed in his green and black attire for the day. He wore a leather coat over his clothes, and a pair of leather riding gloves. 

"N-N-Nothing, Baelon," he groaned, laying on his back. "What are you doing here?"

"We're breaking fast with Mother in the hall," he said, "And then we're going to go flying."

"Who's 'we'?"

"Me and you!" he smiled, "You said yesterday you'd come riding with me and Endrys. Saera says she wants to come too, and Daella. Vaelen doesn't want to go, though. He says he's 'busy'," he rolled his eyes.

He rubbed his eyes with his palms. Yes, he'd forgotten his promise to Baelon yesterday afternoon. Baelon, one-and-ten, proved to be a strong dragonrider. His dragon, the emerald beast called Endrys, bonded with him within his egg, which the Dragonkeepers called ‘extremely rare’. Baelon loved the dragons. He read every book and scroll he could find about them; he visited the dragon pit every day to see them. He rode Endrys as long as possible. Aegon knew he'd give up his crown and join the Dragonkeepers in a heartbeat if given the choice. Opening his eyes, blinking despite how much it hurt, he saw the burn mark that crept from his son’s collar. The maester said the burn won't scar entirely, since the hatchling Baelon carried couldn't blow real fire yet, but he'd have a mark or two. Aegon guessed it'd be the first of many throughout his life. Petting his son's mane of silver hair, he smiled sleepily.

"We'll go riding soon," he said. "You run off and eat. You'll need your strength."

Baelon beamed at him, his smile reminded Aegon of yours, and rushed out of the room. He waited for the boy to leave before rolling to your side of the bed. You must've left a while ago, since he couldn't catch a wisp of your warmth. A small part of him hoped you’d be there for him again; he liked the idea of waking up in your arms, your wetness inches from his touch. Aegon took your pillow in his arms to inhale the scent you left behind. A blend of violet oil and natural musk filled his nose and exhaled deeply. He imagined you’d woken ages before him, most likely due to one of the children sneaking in to get you, and then set about dressing quietly. Due to his rough night, you’d naturally let him sleep in. 

For as long as the children let him. 

Without you, he had no reason to stay in bed. Aegon willed himself to sit up. The grogginess and his aching head made it hard for him to take in his surroundings for a moment. That was the last time he drank Dornish strongwine. He dragged himself out of bed, and searched around for clothes to wear. Seeing some already picked out, he guessed you'd ordered a maid to put them out for him. He saw his riding leathers placed alongside it: a long coat, boots, and gloves fit for riding Sunfyre. Aegon didn't care. He only cared about nursing his hangover. The first few minutes in his room went by in the blur. He didn't recall dressing himself until he left. He prepared himself for the storm he'd be walking into when he reached the dining hall.

"-Mother, Baelon keeps throwing bread at me!"

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Am not!"

"Boys, boys, stop it," he heard you say. "Baelon, stop wasting your food and eat it. Vaelen, darling, just ignore him and finish your eggs."

"Raaawwwr!!"

"Saera, sit down and eat."

"I'm not Saera! I'm Rhaenys!"

"Well, Princess Rhaenys, please come sit and eat."

Aegon stood in the doorway watching them. Saera, her blond hair in a tangled braided mess, ran around the table holding up a wooden dragon puppet in flight. Baelon had stopped pelting Vaelen with bread and started stacking pieces of bacon into a square on his plate. Vaelen ate his breakfast quietly, reading a book propped up against a vase. You sat at the head of the table, talking to your eldest, Daella. You’d worn one of your looser gowns today to give your swollen belly room. Aegon smiled softly for a moment. This was them; his little family. It blew him away some mornings. He never considered himself the domesticated type before. He’d grown up a spoiled, selfish prince who liked gambling, wine, and women; the only person he loved was his sister-wife, you. But then one hot morning, you delivered a baby girl, who suddenly became his entire world. Everything spiraled from there.

"Morning, Husband," you smirked at him knowingly. "How did you sleep?"

Aegon walked forward, doing his best to stay upright and not slouch, "Like a babe." He plucked the wooden toy from Saera mid-run.

"Father!"

"Even dragonriders need to eat," he put her on the chair beside you and handed one of the maids the toy. "Including you," he told Baelon, as he handed him a fork and sat down, “Eat your bacon.” 

The maid served him brown ale, two sausages, bacon, three fried eggs, and a chunk of bread. He began eating when someone placed a small wooden cup beside him. Aegon turned to see Vaelen standing there, blond hair tied back from his face and sage look in his eyes. He picked up the cup to see a faintly green liquid that smelled thickly of grass. 

“Vaelen, what is this?”

“It’s tea,” he smiled, “It helps with overindulgence.”

“Who gave this to you?”

“Nobody. I made it this morning. Mother said you might feel sick, so I used Maester Bole’s special tea for overindulgence,” he said proudly. “Drink it. It’s good for you.”

Aegon highly doubted that. Vaelen, eight-years-old and the youngest of his four, enjoyed recreating medicines and teas he read about in old Citadel scrolls and books. Unfortunately, his family members ended up being the test subjects. Seeing his son’s expectant face, and seeing the laugh you tried hiding, he shrugged and knocked back to “tea”. Watery, it tasted sharply of pine needles and leaves, and he forced himself to hold back a gag. He’d drunk Maester Bole’s elixirs before, and it never tasted like this. Still, he swallowed and nodded. 

“Very good, son,” he coughed, patting the boy’s shoulder and giving him the cup, “I appreciate your concern. Go eat before your food gets cold.”

He waited until Vaelen left to return to his food. The greasy meal will drown the taste left in his mouth. 

“How was it?” you asked, smiling at him. 

“Delightful,” he replied sarcastically, “You should try it.”

“If only I could ‘overindulge’ as much as you do.”

“You can once he” he pointed to your belly, “Comes out.” 

“He? What makes you think it’s a ‘he’?” you bantered back. “Our next child could easily be a girl.”

“Nah,” he shook his head, “It’s a boy, this time. I can feel it.”

“You can feel it? Ah, I didn’t realize you were the one carrying the child.”

“I can sense these things, Y/N,” he said, chewing on a sausage. “I can tell.” 

“I hope it’s a boy,” Baelon said, finally eating a piece of bacon. “I can have a little brother who’ll ride with me. He’ll have a big dragon like me, and we’ll go riding together all the time.”

“Or, he’ll hate dragons and want to read in the library with me,” Vaelen added. 

“I hope it’s a girl,” Daella smiled. “That way, during sewing circles, there will be someone whose stitches are as bad as mine.” 

A girl of one-and-three, she was a spitting image of you. Daella Targaryen, Aegon often boasted, was one of the most comely girls at court. Sadly for Aegon, thirteen is marrying age. He didn’t know any boy who’d want to marry a girl who can outshoot them on an archery range. 

“I don’t care whether it is a boy or girl,” you mused, nibbling on a piece of bread and honey, “Only that it comes.” 

He touched your hand again, seeing the sorrow flash across your eyes. Your last pregnancy didn’t go as you’d both hoped. Daella, old enough to understand, touched your other hand, which made you smile at her. Aegon went back to eating, listening to the conversation change, when he noticed a silver tray at the end of the table. On it, he saw several crushed up herbs, chopped plants, a mortar and pestle, and a glass of a clear liquid. One of Vaelen's experiments, no doubt. Aegon did not have the energy to say anything about experimental works on the table, and went back to eating.

But, nothing gets passed you. "Vaelen, what have we told you? No experiments on the table."

“It’s only my medicinal plants.”

“No experiments.”

Vaelen grumbled, picked up the tray, and put it on a chair. Aegon continued eating slowly, his head feeling heavier than rocks and pounding his temples. He listened to the buzz of his family around him. Aegon could rarely recall a time his own father broke fast with him and his siblings. King Viserys usually remained in his chambers, slowly rotting away due to leprosy and infections. When their family started growing, Aegon made it a point to eat every meal with his children; he’d talk to them about their day, their lessons, and their troubles and answer odd questions. So, despite his throbbing headache and fatigue, he sat with them. 

"What are you all planning for today?" You asked him, taking a sip from your cup.

"These three want to go riding," he nodded to Saera, Baelon, and Daella.

"Are you fit for riding today, love?" You rubbed his arm and gave it a small squeeze. “You had quite a night.”

"I’m always fit for riding,” he insisted. “Sunfyre hasn’t flown in a while. He’ll be eager to get up in the sky.” He looked over at you, “You and Vaelen should join us. Vaelen can ride Daemar, and you can see Moonfyre. The Dragonkeepers say she’s been weeping in her cave.”

“It’s not me she misses,” you noted. “They’ve been keeping her and Sunfyre apart since she had her eggs.” A small smile graced your face, “It seems the dragon has his rider’s appetite.” 

“Clearly.” He chewed at his bacon, then said, “Still, I’d like you and Vaelen to come…all of us together as a family.”

The look you both shared said much. Growing up, your family only attended formal events, celebrations and tourneys together; even then, you never truly bonded. Being the betrothed ones, you and Aegon often stuck together during events because everyone else’s company paled in comparison. Neither of you ever felt a sense of family, even if his mother demanded they uphold the image. The day Daella was born, he’d told you he wanted things to be different, and different they were. You took his free hand and kissed it, then he did the same to yours. 

“Father,” Daella called to him, “Can I bring my bow?"

"That’s fine, dove.” 

"Aegon," you narrowed your eyes at him for a moment. "What do you want to bring your bow for?" 

"I want to see if I can shoot from dragonback."

"You can't shoot from dragonback," Baelon scoffed. "You have to hold the reins!"

"Not if I'm strapped onto Starlight."

"You need to pull the reins to guide her, darling," you said to her. "You're not taking the bow. You'll fall off."

"But Mother!"

"No."

"Father, can I bring it? Please."

"Your mother said 'no'."

Daella sucked her teeth and stopped eating. Aegon can already see her mind working ways to smuggle her bow onto her dragon. Archery on dragonback can be extremely dangerous; only a truly experienced dragonrider could do it well. But Aegon knew it’d be pointless to say anything to her. If she tried, he'd stop her, but for now, he wanted to eat his hangover away. The family broke fast together until Baelon became impatient, and asked if he may go ahead without them.

"No," you told him as everyone stood together, "You go with your father or not at all. I don't want you running around the city alone. It's dangerous out there."

“Doesn’t matter,” he said, soaking up the breakfast drippings with his bread and washing it down. “We’re going now. I’ll have a wheelhouse prepared for you.” 

“I don’t want to go,” Vaelen protested, picking up his experiment, “I want to show Maester Bole my soothing salve!”

“You can show it to him later,” Aegon told him, ushering him towards the doors. “I’m not leaving you here so you can set your curtains on fire.”

“I only set them on fire that one time.”

“No fire.” 

Aegon knew once Vaelen saw Daemar, he’d change his tune. He looked over to see you slowly standing from your chair. He offered you his arm to walk while the children skipped along ahead of you. He ordered his Kingsguard knight, Ser Arryck, to get a carriage ready for the family to set out to the dragon pit. Watching his children all walk ahead of him, chatting about riding and their dragons, Aegon felt something he never felt growing up: Love. He tried so hard to be what his parents wanted, and whenever he acted out of line, they punished him for it. He vowed he’d never be like that with his own children. He’d never make them question whether he loved them, or make them feel less than who they were. 

“Is your head any better?” you asked him as you walked down the corridor. 

“It’s not as terrible as before, but it’ll pass.”

“Or maybe your son’s special tea actually worked this time.”

“I hope so,” he snorted. “It tasted terrible enough to make me forget about my head.”

You laughed together and walked out into the courtyard where stablehands brought out a large wheelhouse. Baelon and Vaelen began pushing one another to get into the wheelhouse first, while Daella scolded them from a distance. Aegon normally would pull them apart, but…he couldn’t find the energy. He watched his boys wrestle for a good minute before Baelon finally won and jumped into the carriage first. He’d enjoy his ‘good seat’ for another minute before Aegon comes to kick him out, and give the comfortable seat to you. When he managed to pile them all into the carriage, he took his seat beside you and the carriage began moving. Aegon looked around the comfortable wheelhouse, recognizing the dragons molded into the borders and the embroidered cushions you sat on. He took your hand in his again, smiling softly. 

“This was the carriage we rode away in on our wedding day,” he whispered in your ear. “You remember our wedding day, don’t you?”

You smiled widely, “I do…I also remember you couldn’t keep your hands off me the whole way home.”

“I didn’t keep my hands to myself even before the wedding. How could you expect me to contain myself when we were finally married and I had you alone?” 

“I didn’t expect you to,” you whispered back, “I was hoping you would.” 

Children all distracted, only one of them noticed you two whispering and the soft peck he gave you. “You were hoping Father did ‘what’, Mother?” Saera, who had ears like a bat, sat right beside you.

“I hoped your father would be a good husband and a good father,” you immediately lied. “So stop being nosey,” you pinched her nose softly, a playful tone in your voice. 

Daella stifled a giggle as she stared out the window, her cheeks a soft pink. She’d heard it all. He’d usually tell her not to listen in on conversations either, but…well, she’d be married soon. She'll be married and have her own children. He preferred not to think of that right now. 

He wanted to have his family for a little bit longer.

🛐🛐🛐🛐🛐

Fool Me Once (pt 2)

Pairing: Aemond targaryen x reader (wc: 3.6k)

Summary: Despite learning about Aemond cheating on you, life has never been sweeter. Who knew being so bad could be so good.

Warnings: manipulation, mentions/allusions to pregnancy issues, mentions of self harm

A/N: first, I just have to say thank you for the response to part 1. I truly had no idea it would get the reception it would. Thank you to everyone who followed me as well. I hope I can continue to produce stuff y’all like. I’m hoping to write more hotd stuff, Aemond and non Aemond related. I plan on taking a small hiatus but will be back around thanksgiving weekend. I will be writing on/off during that time but just away for a trip/the holiday. If you have any hotd requests my inbox is always open. I would try to get them out either before my hiatus next week (11/16) or after it ends (11/26). I’m pretty open to writing any character, though I will warn you I’m way more fascinated by the greens so they just come easier to me. Anyway please reblog, like, and follow if you read anything you enjoy 🫶🏽🫶🏽. And some housekeeping: in this Aegon is not r*pist who enjoys watching children fight (the hotd are truly…. not right for the cartoonishly evil way they wrote Aegon). He’s just petty and neglected. Also the timing of this is different from the books bc Aemond meets Alys pre dance.

Fool Me Once (pt 1)

Blog Masterlist

A bastard Strong. The irony is not lost on you. Your straight-laced husband fucking someone who is the complete opposite you. Older, no kids, no title, and no duty to uphold. At this point, it doesn’t hurt anymore. Instead, it makes your blood boil in the most delicious way. Aemond’s betrayal made you realize how you’ve been going through the motions; endlessly sleepwalking, hoping one day Aemond would come around. It woke you up to how much he’s taken advantage of you. He sees your kindness, and aversion to standing out as a weakness. Something he can manipulate and twist like one of his daggers.

The both of you must have forgetten where you came from. A rich, well respected house. The only daughter of smart, albeit conniving, family that knows how to get what they want. Your family didn’t have dragons or absurd ideas of exceptionalism to help you gain power. You’ve learned that inflated egos and prideful indulges can cloud Targaryen judgment. A trait you hope skips your children.

Shame on you for thinking Aemond would be different. Shame on him for the carefully curated facade.

All you do after Larys Strong comes to you the first time is think. You can’t remember the last time you’ve had this many options in front of you. Your mother’s words about patience run through your head. Keeping your wits is key. Play your hand too quickly, and you lose all leverage. You have Daella and the babe in your belly to think about. You stood pat in the beginning; Lord Strong simply relaying messages to you. You make sure Alys gets the letter Aemond wrote, and the ones after that. Lord Larys makes sure you get the details of each letter exchanged.

When the days grew lonely, and your body aches because of the babe in your stomach, you think about the letters. The declarations of love and recounts of lust filled meetups simmer in your head, but it’s the mentions of you that makes the anger sizzle and crackle. It makes the guilt you feel wash away.

You question if the rumor is true. That his Alys is a witch. Does her magic allow her to see the way Helaena can? Fuzzy premonitions and dreams that only make sense after they happen; a gift and a curse. A part of you wishes it to be true. You hope while your stomach stirs with untold truths, hers stirs with regret. Maybe the pain that runs through you leaves an unfamiliar taste in her mouth. That she can’t quite put her finger on it, but she feels you.

You wonder if when Aemond prays, he asks the Father to protect him… to protect her. The same way when you pray, you ask the Warrior to help you find the courage to destroy him.

It started with a bruise. A bruise that you don’t even remember how you got. Maybe one of those things you just wake up with. But it’s there, on the inside part of your left arm. It’s starting to fade but an otherwise noticeable bruise that stands out when you wear something with shorter sleeves.

The idea doesn’t come to you till you see the curiosity in Alicent’s eyes when you absentmindedly rub the bruise while asking if she’s seen Aemond. It’s only you two in the walkway; an unusually quiet day at the Red Keep. Her eyes go from it to the far away look in your eyes. It makes her tilt her head in thought.

“No dear, I haven’t,” her eyes go back to the scratch. “Are you doing alright? I know for some, the second babe can be even harder than the first.”

You look down at your arm, and something just clicks.

“I’m fine,” you start, then you make your voice tremble a bit. “I will be fine. I think I’m just tired.”

You give her a strained smile, and she returns one that tells you she doesn’t believe you. You can feel her big brown eyes burning into your back when you walk past her towards your chambers. There could be two thoughts in her head: you did this yourself or someone else did it to you. Either way, her son’s sweet pregnant lady wife is not doing well, and her son is nowhere to be found. Queen Alicent is one of the smartest, if not the smartest, person you know. She sees the change in her son; the change in the dynamic between Aemond and you.

It hits you. It would be too easy to physically harm Aemond. Though the idea of taking the blade that hangs from his hips and putting it to his throat has crossed your mind more times than you’re proud of. It would be too easy to get Larys to kill Alys. You don’t want to give Aemond the satisfaction of having his whore’s blood on your hands.

Where’s the fun in killing when your rage could be channeled into something more… methodical.

Under all that false bravado is the little boy who got picked on for not having a dragon. To break the man means bringing out that little boy. A truly broken man can’t love anyone. Isolation, and self hatred. What a gorgeous combination for your dear husband.

If this is going to work you need to up the ante.

So, you write. If Aemond and Alys can document their love, you can document your pain. You sent your lady in waiting out to get a blank book from one of the maesters. The color dyed cow skin feels smooth under your hands. There needs to be a slow build. Each day you grow closer and closer to shattering. Whoever reads it needs to know Aemond brought you to this place. He is the villain in the story of the poor, innocent wife that did nothing but carry his children and try to love him.

It will read like a diary, but to you it is a creation. A mixture of truth and imagination. A manifestation of pent up feelings. Purging and revenge all rolled up into one. You make sure to mention how terrified you are for your safety, and for you children’s safety. How an angry or disenchanted Aemond is nothing to toy with, especially if he has a bastard witch on his side. How maybe life would be better for Aemond if you just weren’t around.

But this fading bruise isn’t enough. Neither is just having a diary that will be discovered in due time. A deep cut, a dark bruise, half hazardously placed hand prints.. now that could work.

There’s something cathartic about the pain you feel when the dagger slices through your skin. The blood is so red and warm. It smears so smoothly on the page. Blood on your dress, cloth pressed to the wound, and wandering the halls is how Ser Criston finds you. You notice the worried, confused look in his eyes when you stutter out an ‘I don’t know’ when he asks what happened.

As the maester tends to your wound, you notice how Alicent and Criston stand in the corner of Alicent’s quarters. They occasionally glance at you while they whisper to each other. You recognize the familiar crinkle she gets in her forehead when she’s upset. All her children do it too.

“Sweetling, we both think it might be a good idea to give you your own knight of the kingsguard,” she sits next you. “Just to help you and… keep an eye on you during this vulnerable time.”

You blink. Not one mention of her son. But it’s clear to see how Ser Criston is with his queen. Submissive, and utterly devoted. Having someone like that is an asset. So, you smile weakly and nod. The more people who see you in this way, the better.

Ser Quinton Throne was quiet in the beginning. As if he was scared to be in your space. A far cry from the rambunctious knight his brother, Rickard, is. Moving past the initial shyness, he is attentive and even indulges Daella’s fascination with him. Despite you telling her not to, she would always run up to him, tugging on his white cloak to get his attention. She likes having someone around just as much as you.

The distance between Aemond and you had started to carry over into his relationship with Daella. Kids are more intuitive than adults give them credit for. Your throat felt tight when you daughter finally asks where father goes. You lie; it comes easy to you, easier than you thought it would. It makes you think if this is how easy it is for Aemond to lie to you. Or for everyone to not gloss over the clear problems in your life.

You would lying if you said it wasn’t nice having a man around, even if it was his job. It was Aemond’s job to do right by you, and he couldn’t do that. A man carrying out his orders with a warm smile was welcomed. The comfort of having someone who sweared his allegiances to you, and only you, and intended on keeping them.

You look from your embroidery loop to see Daella and Ser Quinton sword fighting with wooden swords. It’s an uncharacteristically sunny day. Perfect to get much needed fresh air, and apparently going to battle.

“She’s gotten quite good.”

Like a storm rolling in to ruin a sunny day, your husband’s tone is ever cold and distant. You hate the uncomfortable energy that radiates when he sits next to you.

“Yes, she has,” you stare at the Lysene lilac flower starting to come to life on your loop. “He’s good with her as well.”

You know he won’t like you saying that. He hates Quinton being around, and he especially hates how Daella taken a liking to him. Aemond scoffs and mumbles something under his breath you can’t make out.

“It’s just lovely having real protector around,” you continue to push your luck. “Someone so attentive and… strong.“

You look at with his a sickening sweet smile. He opens his mouth to say something, a complaint or rude comment since those seem to be the only reasons he talks to you, but he is interrupted by Daella yelling out for him.

“We’ll talk about this later,” he mutters to you, getting up.

“Oh you’ll actually be here long enough for that?”

The words slip out your mouth and it makes him turn to glare at you. It reminds you of the gossip you heard about him when you first arrived at court. How cold the king’s second son can be. It should’ve been a warning to you.

Quinton takes it as his cue to leave them be; you know he can sense how much Aemond doesn’t appreciate his presence. You watch as Daella clings to her father. As selfish as it sounds, you patiently wait for the day she too realizes he can’t be depended on.

“My mother used to make me embroider,” your knight’s voice breaks you out of looking on. “Something about being dangerous with a needle is just as great as being dangerous with a sword.”

You take a good look at him. If Aemond is the moon - ethereal, mysterious, and always changing, then Quinton is the sun. Bright, forward facing, and shines brighter with time. His choppy black hair, beard, and warm standing in contrast to your husband’s Targaryen features.

“Sounds like a smart woman,” you smile as he sits next to you.

His eyes linger on your embroidery work before traveling to you right arm. The blade wound was just starting to scab and scar over. His first day on duty was marked by seeing your husband give a long lecture on safety and ‘using your brain’ after Aemond saw your wound. The blade cut wasn’t under pure circumstances, but the look of resentment on your face was real. He saw that. He’s never asked what really happened to your arm.

“How are you princess,” he whispers. You told him he can address you by your name, but he still insist on the formal names especially around others. “Is the babe giving you trouble.”

Ser Quinton, Helaena, and Alicent are the only people that seem to care about your well being, on top of the babe’s. Aemond concern went making sure the babe was fine to just not asking all together. It’s better that way, you think. You don’t think you’d be able to take fake concern about your little ‘mistake’.

“My bladder is being pushed on, I’m finding clumps of my hair on my pillow, and Maester Oliver told me this baby will weigh more than Daella did,” you reply lightly. “But other than that I’m doing fine.”

This pregnancy had knocked you on your ass. You’re sure the stress and thoughts that consume you don’t help. You know how it feels to come into a fracture family; it makes you feel awful for the babe in your stomach. Your parents tried hard, frankly too hard, to pretend things were good between them. Trying to prove their union was more than a duty for their houses. Till this day, you don’t know what’s worse: knowing they didn’t share that love or the years you watched them fake everything. They had ambitions, and to carry them out there needed to be an appearance of an united front. You took your father’s lead, knowing he always tried to have your best interest. The relationship you have with your mother often ebbing and flowing, especially since your marriage.

When you ravened your mother about your pregnancy troubles, she tells you that this is your responsibility to your husband. Harsh and utterly true. You don’t know if your father ever had indiscretions like Aemond, but you know she’d never plot the way you do. Her calculating nature showing up in different ways. Instead of going after him, she chose to focus on elevating you.

Her and Queen Alicent remind you of each other. Devoted to a fault. A victim who had no other choice but to fall in line.You pray for the both of them. Pray that they find peace with the sacrifices they’ve made. Pray that you never get that far. A shell of yourself. Duty, responsibility, cleaning up others’ messes - what a dull way to live.

“Once he’s out, I’m sure it will all be worth it,” says Ser Quinton, voice not wavering.

He’s trying to be kind, mentioning the working theory in the castle that you’re having a boy. You try to smile at the thought. It’s hard to believe that. Plan or not, you still have to know the truth about the father of your children. There is hole left in your heart about that. Him disrespecting you is one thing, but his words pertaining to your unborn child is another. A sudden spurt of anger rushes over you thinking about everything. It makes you stand abruptly.

“I’m feeling tired,” you watch as Daella pretend to stab her father with her sword. Her giggles ringing out when he reaches to pick her up. The dichotomy of Aemond Targaryen will always fascinate you as much as it terrifies you. How he manages to smile in her face, and lie to yours is quite a sight to watch. “I’ll send Margret out to get Daella.”

Waiting for the perfect moment is not going to work. There no time like the present.

The stiff upper lip of this family is something you noticed the moment you stepped into their presence. It’s seeped into the way they gatekeep a dying Viserys. Alicent is cold and collected in the most beautiful way. A sharp glittering icicle. A pretty rose littered with thorns to keep you admiring from a distance. Even Helaena, who you consider a friend, keeps certain things close to the chest. It’s better to keep the full truth away from her.

But there’s Aegon.

Pitiful, and lonely Prince Aegon. A drunk with a bad attitude. But he’s also the most painfully self-aware person you know. There will be times that you and him exchange looks, as you are in on the joke. That everything is a farce. One day someone will just come up and say it’s all been a bad dream. You think it’s the reason why he frustrates Aemond so much. The teasing on top of him never taking the Targaryen name seriously. Aegon spends his days trying to drink and fuck his way out of thinking about his life. Stuck in a royal cuckold. The first born son of a king with nothing to show for it.

He’s messy, nosy, and so openly brash. He’s your missing chess piece. The perfect pawn.

You leave the diary around places in the castle you know he will be. It’s not until you conveniently leave it in the play room where all Daella, Jaehaera, and Jaehaerys all frequent that you know he’s taken the bait. His lilac eyes seem to follow you whenever you two are in the same room. It takes days for him to confront you; book in hand and wry look on his face.

“Is it true? Everything you wrote?”

You stroke your belly while looking at him, a small smile on your face.

“Does it matter that if it is,” you tilt your head, and his eyes glitter with something you’re not used to seeing.

He mirrors your head tilt with a full blown smile on his face this time. It’s like a bright light after weeks of darkness. A person who also sees through the bullshit that enraptures once you call yourself a Targaryen.

“I greatly underestimated you my good sister,” he whispers. You know he’s thinking about his own words. ‘Pretty but horribly dull’.

“That’s fine,” you motion to the seat next to you. “You can make it up to me.”

Queen Alicent stands facing the fire. Aegon, Helaena, and Ser Quinton off to the side. All of them standing across from where you sit. Aegon gives you a knowing look while Quinton’s eyes are filled with pity and anger. Pity for his princess, anger towards his prince. Helaena looks like she wants to say something.

“I… do not know what to say,” her voice is strained with pain. You know this hurts for her. The image of the perfect son being destroyed. The pedestal she put him on crumbling before him.

You’ve gotten better at crying after Aegon told you tears will be necessary to sell it. It’s an automatic response now. The perfectly timed emotion that breaks like flood gates when Alicent holds out the diary. You say you’re embarrassed. That you never meant for anyone to read it, especially not anyone in the family. Aegon gets to be the concerned good brother. He rubbed your back, while his mother called for Helaena. She needed to know who else knew about this.

“I can say what everyone is thinking,” Aegon pipes up. “He’s a fucking cunt.”

“Aegon.”

His mother turns to glare at him, but it doesn’t deter him.

“Walking around with that self righteousness just to fuck a Strong,” he scoffs. “Calling his child a mistake?”

The words makes Alicent sigh, and squeeze her eyes shut. Helaena continues to play with her fingers with a quizzical look in her eye. If Aegon of all people can judge, the actions must be bad.

“This all my fault,” you decide to take it up a notch. Your breath catches. “I must’ve done something to deserve this.”

“Oh my sweet girl,” Alicent walks over and sits next to you, pulling you into her chest. “None of this is your fault.

“I just don’t know what I did to deserve this,” you continue. That part is true; what the seven hells did you do to deserve this marriage? “This, and the baby, and missing my family. I’m just so unhappy here.”

Alicent strokes your hair. You can feel her heart thumping in her chest. You can tell she’s upset and scared. Scared for what your unhappiness means. You’re a risk now.

“Maybe… my father can come and visit. He hasn’t been here since Daella was born.”

After you got married, your parents left court to tend to your house. They felt their work was done. That the marriage was as far as their political ambitions can go. They visit from time to time to see their granddaughter but normally you’re the one who has to make the trip.

“Of course,” you can see the wheels turning in her head. “I’m sure the Hand would love to pick his brain on some things. Your father has always been so kind and helpful”

Queen Alicent is as predictable as she is smart. Your dad thought your marriage would help him get a seat in the small council. When no offer came, his ego was bruised. If your marriage couldn’t, maybe a desperate Alicent can. The idea of sending a raven about the news makes you have to bite back a smile. An ally in an castle full of strangers.

“I’ll speak to Aemond about this,” she nods to herself. “You don’t need to be worrying about this in your condition.”

The disappointment is clear in smooth voice. Before you can reply with a thank you, Helaena finally piped up.

“A baby’s green eyes spurs brighter skies.”

She mutters it before looks at you curious. You look down at your swollen belly, feeling confused. Neither Aemond or you have green eyes. You try to push the sinking feeling out of your stomach. Even Aegon, who normally ignores Helaena’s cryptic language, has perked up a little.

You take a look at Ser Quinton… his eyes as green as spring grass.

Ok this is my first one doing a tag list, so I’m sorry for those I’ve missed. It only let me do 50??? Idk it’s it’s different on desktop or I’m doing something wrong. Hopefully I can find a more conducive way for this. I also only tagged people who specifically asked: @afro-hispwriter @crispmarshmallow @unabashedlyswimmingtimemachine @its-sam-allgood @lol-im-done @grey-water-colors @sassysaxsolo @justsumstufff @lilithskywalker @dc-marvel-girl96 @bekky06 @claudie-080102 @cloudroomblog @shelbythequeen @crazylokonugget @solacestyles @instantpeachpeace @katyadenauer @nsainmoonchild @deeeeexx @iwanttohitmyself @rosa-berberifolia @noisyinfluencerstrawberry @princessmiaelicia @bregarc @castellomargot @thesadvampire @chaosmagiq @icarusignite @happinessinthebeing @flavorofsalt @wishfulwithwine @slut-for-eddie-munson @rosaryos @mistalli @inana-mm @winxschester @papery-maniac @nolongereviliwantlove @fultimefangirl @missusnora @skinmittensgoblin @duckworthbean @b00kdiary @chiyausu @alexandra-001 @tachibubu @juneisreading @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @verycollectivecreator